


Uncounted time

by imladrissun



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imladrissun/pseuds/imladrissun
Summary: France and England, and their endless lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is often on my-music-room on tumblr, but I wanted to focus on Fruk specifically, by itself, so I put it here.

He’s had extensive experience with Arthur, most of it up close and personal. Just the smell of Earl Grey seems to encapsulate him. It always seems to permeate Arthur’s space. [He doesn’t get into smoking as much as Francis did, frowning on it as foreign in the late 1560s]. 

While they sometimes tease each other in public, in private neither goes there. They just peacefully co-exist. Arthur seems weirdly insecure about having his attention; he almost looks surprised to see that he’s loved. Francis doesn’t understand him.

He literally jokes that he loves him in front of others, how much more clear can you be?

When Arthur gives him time, it feels like a gift. He’s so intense, so solemn. Much more reserved than even the other countries think. He acts more emotional or really, emotive, with the boy, but Francis thinks that’s more of a put on act than how he is usually. He’s himself with Francis. He knows he doesn’t need to reassure him, or express things.

Not that Francis wouldn’t enjoy it, admittedly.

 

.

 

 

There are quite a few times when Francis just comes up to England unannounced. He just feels like it; he doesn’t tell anyone in advance. It must be some kind of intuition though, he tries to tell himself; he knows it’s probably more like the guilty pleasure of enjoying a foreign country.

It’s a mini-vacation; and it’s usually with his favorite person. If he gets up to Arthur’s manor house in the countryside, he first checks to see if Alfred’s there. That’s stupid, as he always knows what Alfred’s doing; the boy used to call and tells him incessantly. Now he sends pages long emails instead.

But it’s still a habit to check. They both try to tone down their relationship when he’s there. [He can tell if Alfred is visiting by the amount of hair-raising walking through the gates does–if it’s intense, and you can almost feel a temperature change, he’s there. If it’s light, then he’s not. Arthur ups security if he’s there, and with good reason.]

If he’s not, and it’s at night, Francis drops his bag at the entrance of the drive and walks out to the little lake. Arthur is often laying down in his little boat with a wireless on; somehow, it seems like ‘Sailing by’ is always playing.

He walks up through the trees, down the tiny dock and looks into the boat. Somehow Arthur always knows it’s him before it should be possible to know. It must be his familiarity with light magic.

Francis doesn’t like to touch the stuff; he knows from Gilbert how serious it is, since he’s seen his little lord use it. To Francis, it’s life and death stuff. But Arthur is just usually interacting with the tiny, weak spirit creatures of his island, so it’s not like it’s a problem.

They don’t usually talk about their childhoods; especially not how he would call him lapin. But Francis thinks of it as Arthur moves over so he can lay down in the little boat too. Except now it’s the other way around, now he puts his head on Arthur’s shoulder. He doesn’t know which way he likes it best: the idealized past, childhood, or reality, the present future? Being older is very satisfying. There are things he never imagined as a little god in Normandy. And yet, he felt complete back then when he held his little friend to his chest. There was no sense of anything lacking.

He stares up at the stars, and thinks.

 

.

 

 

 

It takes days for Arthur to really settle in and relax. Then it takes a few more to get him to the point where he’s going to expound upon whatever he wants. Francis waits in silence, mostly. He talks if he feels like it, but leaves anything big, or deep, for later.

He’s found, through the years, that Arthur seems oddly sensitive to his judgements. His opinion of what he says. Which is weird, because Francis doesn’t feel like that the other way around. Everyone is their own person, and that’s the end of it.

Arthur’s never liked servitude as much as French culture got into it at the top levels; he has his servants leave breakfast and tea outside his room on a little table. Technically, his room at the estate has a connecting door to the lady’s room beside the master bedroom.

It’s silly, but Francis kind of likes that Arthur’s left it the way it is: full of his random French stuff. Over the years, he always dumped his stuff off in there, unpacked in there, and generally put [or left] odds and ends in that room. While the place has been renovated in the areas it needs to be, his stuff is untouched.

Arthur even had the wallpaper and linen remade in the same colours and patterns. Francis doesn’t care either way, except that this weird thing seems almost like a gesture. He likes it. He kind of thinks of it as ‘his’ room.

Even Alfred has never put his things in it, or disturbed it; Francis doesn’t know that Arthur just keeps it locked and off limits to everyone else.

Technically he spends almost zero time in his little room. He’s outside, or with Arthur, or roaming around because he feels like it. It seems like more of an uber private, set aside place–the way you don’t just hang out at a shrine, it’s a special place only. It’s not for casual lounging.

It’s irrational, but that’s how he feels. Francis has decided not to care about it. He likes to accept his thoughts and move forward from there.

Anyway, even his bags are just set outside the room, in deference to no one entering it. Servants do go in sometimes, but Francis doesn’t mind. Usually he only stops by for a second, tipping his bag over and changing clothes quickly as he races through the inner door to the master bedroom. 

That’s where he always actually sleeps, with Arthur; and one of his favorite parts is the two trays left outside the door in the morning. As some mark of respect of his being French, not native, they put weird things on a special plate for him. He knows it’s his [and always has] because Arthur hands it to him.

It’s hilarious, because it’s the weirdest stuff you’ve ever seen. Bread they’ve tried to make look like a baguette, cottage cheese [???], and always a piece of French toast – just one.

He loves it in all its nonsense.

Arthur’s food-type items are more like dry toast and an egg.

The other tray is interesting as well; they both sleep very late, but Arthur likes to wait to eat, he has a more spare appetite. He goes off and splashes water on his face while Francis usually grabs the trays. The other one is all beverages; and it has little, tiny cups of juice for him. And an even tinier cup of espresso. It looks almost like a doll’s tea set.

There are two cups of tea, but also a carafe of hot water, and extra teas. [Arthur loves trying new kinds, from loose leaf to cheap bagged kinds; as long as they’re new to him. At Christmas he always gets him tins of the latest, newest teas from Mariage Freres.] There are little, super-thin slices of thick pie, which makes him wonder what English people actually think French people are like. They [or Arthur] seem to include a lot of Italian-type items for him [he assumes, they could be doing anything, he can’t pin it down], but he never says anything.

It’s all for him, and all special. He knows because he’s seen a tray that’s for when it’s just Arthur alone. It literally has one cup of tea on it.

And that’s it.


	2. Chapter 2

Holidays are very confusing for them. Francis at least remembers what they used to do; he thinks Arthur recalls his Druid days as well, but there is no sign of it. He does prefer to be outside, though, and cultivates plants and flowers for reasons Francis does not know. He doesn’t ask, not wanting it to seem like he approves of that type of power.

He does not resent that Arthur has it, he just wants to stand indifferent from it. Unless there’s an emergency, of course.

Anyway, while he does not love to stay on barges in the Seine, Arthur likes them. There’s something about the water that he enjoys; probably the whole island thing, he thinks. Francis would rather deal with being on horseback instead. In those early days, he only got to see Arthur when he felt like sailing over from Dover. Even then, as a child, he was sailing, though he brought servants with him.

[He doesn’t think they were enthralled or anything, like Tino’s mortal serving people. He likes Arthur to stay good, and he has. Self-interest is fine with Francis, as is expansion–but not using power to compel. That is a dangerous line to cross. Personally, he thinks Roderich has crossed it by making his little people; including Alfred he has made almost six little gods. There’s something eerie about creating life yourself.]

He and Arthur were made from the high concentration of magical energy in their land, Gilbert tells him once, straight from the source on this type of thing. It makes him breathe easier to know he has no master–though Gil appears to be pleased with his, most of the time.

Francis has a habit of reading books on English history, which yes, he hides. He can’t quite explain to himself why he does it. Most of the books are in English only, necessarily, but he gets them anyway. He has a collection of them and no defense. He also has learned little, as it seems no one really knows what the Druids were up to or why. 

It’s not that he wants to relive their old memories, but he does feel a strong connection to that time. There is no one he can talk about it with.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred doesn't understand why they have public personas and private ones; while he hides parts of himself for his own time, he is indeed more open with his fellow people than they are.

Francis prefers it that way. He gets the private side of Arthur, which he enjoys, despite it being more remote. He's unforthcoming in many aspects; but he's always liked to hear Francis talk about anything and everything, just taking it in. 

He likes how he watches him, soaks in his discourses on whatever topic--from Clafoutis to Villon. He will even watch him cook, which weirdly doesn't make Francis nervous. His attention seems like a balm to the rush of the world, the impatient, rude masses. Arthur has always supported him in whatever he's doing, personally. 

When he displayed his first painting in public, he was there. All of his personal triumphs had an audience that nodded its approval. He does have flaws, though.

Arthur never lets him see him work on poetry--and he knows he's published some. Francis still pours over literature trying to see if he can definitively pin down something he wrote. Definitely some of Donne's work, he thinks. He does embroider in front of him, he always liked little work like that. In the old days he did fancy altar cloths. 

Francis would raise an eyebrow at any other man doing it; but not him. It somehow makes him more of a man, if that's possible, and he already is quite proficient in that area. He's ridiculously courageous, and never reminds one of a favor he's done you. It's in the past. 

He also never brings up anything delicate, which Francis appreciates. Arthur is rather blunter than he is, and Francis doesn't want to hear anything too real. 

Now, in terms of flaws: he doesn't like Kouign Amann or tarte tatin [he will not say it, but he wrinkles his nose just barely unconsciously], he does not like early French plays [true blasphemy], and he sometimes sends mixed signals.

He doesn't do it the usual way, though--Francis always knows he values him, and loves him. But while Arthur will happily spend all day every day with him, he will not travel often. He does not prefer to leave Britain. Francis has an unproven feeling that it might be because he's used to the dormant ley lines type magical hum in the background of his home, not that he's ever said anything like that. 

Or even used the term ley line. Francis likes to read books on that type of thing when it focuses on Britain, though. It interests him. Of course he does sometimes come to Paris, or even other parts of the old Frankish world, but it's short visits. 

Francis once stayed at his estate in the English north country for six months just to see what would happen if he didn't leave. Surely Arthur would make excuses and go somewhere, or tell him his time was up for the time being. 

It turned out that it's Francis who needs more alone time than him. Arthur seemed pleased by it all. What sport the creator of the earth makes of well laid plans, Francis thinks. What irony.


	4. Chapter 4

Francis never knows what to get him during the holidays. He always ends up going with stuff that seems too mundane, and not romantic enough. He gets him first editions of his favorite writers [and finds out he already had them, inevitably, later while poking around], new teas to try. Eventually he shifts into giving him little accessories for embroidery and that type of thing. 

He has the annoying feeling that despite Arthur's appreciation at these things, he probably has one of them somewhere in the house already.

Arthur always seems to effortlessly beat him at holidays, while clearly thinking his gifts are nothing, just trinkets. They're anything but. They always seem to be insanely thoughtful. Over the years he's presented with gloves in the latest fashion, cloaks with velvet brocade, a selection of rare wines.

Arthur is more virtuous than him, but less religious. Francis went wholesale into his first bible studies, he was interested to learn more. Arthur was not. So Christian things are out, unless we're talking about fancy jewelry. Francis on the other hand likes to read commentary on Revelation, and is pleased when he's given a book he doesn't have on the topic.

He has some desire to figure it out; it's rough going, most of the time. Arthur seems to turn to his Druidic system, whatever that entails. He'd like to ask about it, but it seems rather indelicate. It's much easier to have a veiled conversation about what he'd like to do at a party that night than talk about faith. Strangely, he always wanted Francis to instruct the boy in religion; he mostly took to Puritan teachings despite it. 

But Francis appreciates the thought. Arthur has always acted like they are a team, like he values his opinion and influence over Alfred equally. 

The letters Arthur's sent him over the years are odd, to be frank. Always remarks on the land, the news and the weather. It's not personal, really. It's only when he reads Twitter for the first time that he realizes Arthur was just giving him status updates; including him. Keeping that link open. 

Francis didn't write back too much; it was hard to decide what to say. He found himself hesitant to commit serious words to paper, lest it be read by others. He doesn't want to feel bared like that; he doesn't even want the possibility to exist.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur is very invested in cricket, and tennis by the by. He also likes going to haunted areas -- Cumbria mostly, and Francis has only inadvertently, jokingly mentioned the idea of him losing his raven birds once. Never again. In all their low key teasing, mostly murmured back and forth during events they were attending together, he knew he'd never said anything hurtful. But that actually got to him, and Francis had never forgotten how painful it was to feel regret; not that Arthur'd said anything outright about it, or ever acted differently. 

He'd seen it, that moment of shock, eyes wide. It wasn't something he liked people to know, or mention. Francis knew how he felt, but had been at a loss to express it. 

He had a laundry list of things he didn't want to discuss, and Arthur had never crossed any line with him. Antonio had once implied he and Arthur must anger each other constantly, what with mocking things like St. Joan, etc. Francis hadn't answered, as Antonio was on the ground, at the passing-out-drunk stage of the evening, but it had surprised him. Other people had an unusual outlook on them. 

Well, he could see how they did on Arthur, as he was so reticent people probably just project onto him, or imagined whatever they'd heard instead of actually talking to him in real life. 

When tea time was introduced after the time of Jane Austen, it was the late 1800s or something, Arthur glommed onto it. He was a fervent devotee as soon as it caught on and spread around the country. Francis came up to try it, of course. They are both forever making up reasons to him to come up to England. 

Arthur always seems to have excellent servants. The scones are amazing, not that Francis isn't sure to bring him up some French bits and bobs to try. Arthur is perennially bemused by macarons with odd flavors.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur does not care for dressing well. He mostly wears what is laid out for him by his valet. While his people do get him nice things, even early on when he seemed to just wear green cloaks [that looked impossibly like velvet], Francis can't imagine not picking his clothes himself. 

A pageboy can put it on him, but only he picks everything out. 

Arthur also doesn't care too much for wine; he prefers to feel the out of body sensation that rum or gin apparently provides you with. For long stretches of history, many people were lowkey drunk all the time, but the resulting tolerance that developed means Arthur has to drink a lot, and quickly, to feel anything.

Alfred is not a fan of spirits, for the most part. He still likes juice, half the time; especially now that he doesn't care for pop so much anymore. The boy doesn't mind if it's just a little flask; he doesn't like to see lots of bottles.

While drunk, Francis is filled with energy, and talks for hours. Arthur becomes even more languid than usual--and he's begun to wonder if for him, drinking is a sleep aid. He definitely doesn't take advantage of it as an excuse though, and does not get amorous during those periods. He is willing to be snuggled a little under the covers, but that's it. 

Francis finds they mostly exist in quiet, lazy days. While Arthur feels duty bound to do something during any period of fighting in [or involving] his country, Francis is more cynical. So many peoples have moved through the land that is called his; what about French citizens in other countries as well? He struggles to define what is truly French. Antonio has no such problems, but Francis doesn't see his area as some monolith. 

He also doesn't have a blind devotion to duty, either. Arthur loves to be doing something useful, to oversee British war plans, to go over statistics and supply routes, or watching over the Home Office. Francis feels that all conflict is a problem, unless it's to immediately better society in some way. He also doesn't like talk of soldiers or war, as if makes him recall scenes he's lived through in the past. It makes him feel unsettled and unable to eat. 

Arthur always knows something's up if he's not enjoying his food. Or even British food, which he actually likes to try. New things are an adventure, even if he doesn't end up liking it above what he usually eats. He likes to spend his time listening to music and reading when he's alone, or helping important Parisians host modern salons for the best and brightest France [and its former colonies] has to offer. 

He has a nearby restaurant in his arrondissement send up some coq au vin, blanquette de veau or steak frites on the rare occasions Arthur is there. His friend is more hesitant to try new food, and has never loved to eat. Francis feels cooking can be an art; Arthur only half pays attention to what he eats. He does like to try rosé for some reason, though. 

It's Francis that has to coax him into trying curries, when they first get popular.


	7. Chapter 7

There are certain days that Arthur has fancy teas occur, with loads of sandwiches and fancy desserts. Francis has yet to discern the 'whys' of the scheduling, but he likes to attend them. Sometimes coming across the Channel and finding there's a fancy tea on is just the most comforting thing in the world. 

Arthur has a love of cream, but he will stoop to a little raspberry jam, depending on the day. Francis brings some French jars of the stuff up with him, and gives them to the head of the kitchen. He knows he doesn't have to feel like a guest, [he's family, and they all know it], but he likes to feel as though he contributes. 

There are cultural differences that neither of them seem to foresee--such as the tendency to have involved debates, where you deconstruct everyone's political opinions, and their existential ones, as they do yours. It's all in good fun, but Arthur doesn't really 'feel' it, he can tell. 

Country people in Britain have more of a tendency toward being 'nice' than he does; and even Arthur will only say so much when they have 'French' discussions, as he calls them, absently. He instead leans toward quiet irony, but does not advance an argument for or against whatever Francis is on about at the moment. 

Arthur also doesn't drink as casually as Francis does. He'll sometimes abstain until he's at home, or at one of Francis' places, and then prefer to drink there. He'd rather do a spot of heavy drinking instead of light consumption all around the clock. 

He also likes Pimms, which kind of boggles the mind. Although, admittedly they both like to try make up glasses of whatever new cocktail has been invented in America. It's always new, new, new over there. Personally, Francis feels he'd get tired of the endless change. "Tradition is such a balm to the soul," Arthur says one tea time in the afternoon, and he can only agree. 

"Though tea is rather new, isn't it," he continued, kind of abstractly frowning. Francis considers his teacup. "And the eating of it. Funny how new things get incorporated so quickly, and seem like they should have been there in the first place."

"Tomatoes," Francis volunteers, and his friend nods. They end up sitting there quietly for another hour, outside in the shade of an oak tree. The servants brought out a table, chairs and china. [He isn't sure, but he thinks the white lace tablecloth is one that Arthur did the edges on himself.] It's warm enough to suit Francis, and cool enough for the other one. This is one of the things Francis likes about him--how there's no pressure, nothing is awkward. He knows he can say anything and be safe. 

Even physically, he can slouch in his chair and know he's not going to be judged; no one's going to notice. At home there's more of a sense of 'life as art'. You dress immaculately to go to the shops. Even in his own house, he behaves differently than he does in England. 

There is no fashion scene out in Arthur's little estate or the nearby town. People appear to be dressing like it's still the 1940s, and not the movie version of it, either. Arthur wears his old, faded plaid jumpers, or little similar looking vests of a shirt, but it's not a crisp one. Everything is comfortable, and nothing is chic. 

It's very relaxing. They have an unspoken rule to never talk about anything of import. Well, personal things are okay, but international ones are not. [They have to always remind Alfred to shush because he is a news junkie--back when the papers came out more than once a day, and now that he gets news alerts on his mobile].


	8. Chapter 8

The British are a very fanciful people, it turns out. Francis raises an eyebrow when confronted with fairy cakes for the first time, and the first time he hears natives argue about whether you say scone or scone. 

He never actually thought of the item in question as a scone, to be honest, but he keeps his opinions to himself. He has a great sense of self preservation. When he asks Arthur's opinion, he only gets a roll of the eyes and told that people just make up nonsense to talk about because they've got nothing in their heads. 

He loves visiting on Guy Fawkes, it's all bonfires, fireworks and mysterious events at night. Even the food is interesting variations on things Francis thinks he's tried before. Arthur is always surprised when he wants to try street food, like fish and chips. He has the feeling that they only serve him what they think of as 'fancy' food at the country house. 

It's a mark of respect of course, but part of him just wants to try something different, something special and even more culturally distinct. Bonfire night is one of the few times he gets to do it with Arthur, who doesn't usually spend time with him in London. 

There's treacle toffee, and Parkin gingerbread while drinking mulled wine. Arthur loves that wine, and Francis loves it for the memories of having it with him in the cold outdoors. They forgo eating dinner until they get back late at night, but there are plates in the oven for them of shepherd's pie. 

It's never so satisfying as after he's been out in the cold. The master bedroom has a fireplace, and it's always already lit when they get back; he likes the silent thoughtfulness. 

Not that having it cold wouldn't also be nice, what with going to sleep next to him. Arthur didn't prefer to talk about feelings on any topic, really, but was quite lowkey romantic. He sometimes sent things to his flat in Paris because 'it looked like something you'd have--hell, you probably do'. He didn't. He felt lucky he had him, and also worried about measuring up. 

While he knew the people of other countries [in their circles] thought of him as using Arthur, or that it was 'easy' to resort to him, it didn't feel like that. Arthur didn't seem to 'need' him, but he did. He missed him when they'd both been busy too long; he wanted to physically be close. Intimacy was loving, life-affirming, yes all that -- but it was also comforting. There was someone in the world who liked him best, who would care for him, be kind to him. 

When he was sure he was asleep, in that big bed, and they were snuggled up because they were so cold [and because they usually did it], he would talk to him. It was just a tiny, barely there whisper, but he wanted to say it. It was only then that he called him mon chou. He couldn't imagine him reacting to such on the nose talk in real life. He'd be horrified. 

Arthur was absolutely willing to suffer for him, or die though their kind could not, he was sure. He knew that. He didn't think he was willing to openly express softer things. Arthur's strengths included being a strong and silent type; he expressed himself through presents and physicality and thoughtfulness. 

It was stupid, but it made him feel better when he thought too long on existential topics and came away unsettled or vaguely down in the dumps. 

Arthur didn't seem to have the same interest in concepts like existence or the point of life. "I don't have time to worry about that, the test match is going terribly. I can't even think about anything else," he intoned once in a mild yet desultory fashion. He didn't look too put out, though. Francis thought he would have bought his calm, his placid peace, if he could have.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur is the type of person who reads magazines about gardening unironically. While he tries to be reserved in general, passion gets the best of him sometimes. Especially if he's successfully created a new type of blossom by crossing two types of flowers and it blooms. 

And yet, he seems to think any physical love is somehow only allowed at night. And a bunch of other chemistry type things, though he hasn't yet figured out what any of that is. 

Francis has forgotten that seers and priests in many cultures only brewed things at night. From perfume to potions, big activities needed to have certain moon phases present, or particular constellations visible. He never learned that type of thing; he tended towards societies and civilizations from the start, however primitive they were at first. 

Arthur was more of a 'connected to nature' type. He also didn't think ships were appropriate places to make love, unfortunately, given how much time he spent on them. His study up at the country house always smelled a pinch like tobacco leaves, even though he never smoked them, and a darker, sweet smell that made Francis think of incense. Up close, he always smelled like Earl Grey, like tea and lemon. 

It had taken Francis many years to realize it was also the fact that he wore cologne that smelled like tea; either way, he was all for it. Arthur was up for prodigious 'expressive' moments, as he had once termed them, in his study, but not the culmination of the act. He would only get himself [or anyone else] off in the bedroom, and then only at night. 

He had an odd habit of keeping the curtains open at certain times during the seasons, but Francis couldn't figure out if it was just for the moon's phases or something more complicated. 

There was definitely some time of each season [it seemed different for each one] when Arthur was much more of an initiator of intimacy. He would often watch him contemplatively if they were both in the study, and if Francis was actually reading his book this time, he'd just ask, "Are you much interested by that?"

His look had a large hint of mischief in it, and Francis got the message. He kind of liked how the lighter, drawn out sessions in that old, book-filled room were the nice appetizer for when they rushed up the stairs like teenagers and Arthur pulled him onto the bed. If he hadn't shoved him down first, of course. 

Arthur was very quick to get off, it was more the drawn-out feeling of it that seemed to do it for him. Francis wanted much more, and all of it harder. His friend was happy to oblige him. He was very unashamed of it all, but still had a sense of decorum about certain bits. Reaching that stage of bliss made him look almost drowsy, but his hands were on point. 

The only drawback was that afterwards Francis would have killed for a cigarette, but his friend had never let anyone smoke in his houses, he'd disliked it immensely. Arthur also didn't want to rest at night, he seemed energized by getting off; and after a while would go rush off to the bath, emerging in a dark green tunic robe, and go off to do whatever it was he did at night. It was some wizardry, no doubt, but Francis was much too satisfied to go and investigate. 

He had no doubt it was real, whatever it was, since Arthur had often called him or sent letters warning him of something he was worried about. It had always seemed pertinent, and taking his advice had always helped him.

**Author's Note:**

> **FYI I take commissions, just message me : )


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